


Five Times Yuuri Gets Off, And One Time Viktor Helps Him

by misato



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: Okay, so he’s never jacked off before.Sue him.(In which Yuuri jacks off quite a lot.)





	

1.

Yuuri’s eighteen years old, curled up in bed with his laptop, watching porn for the first time and doing his very best to orgasm.

Okay, so he’s never jacked off before.

Sue him.

He was never really interested in sex as much as he was interested in skating; a successful quad sounded better than an orgasm to him most days.

But his skating friends had started talking about their latest fucks in the group chat, and when one of the American guys had questioned him about his own sex life in the form of a lewd message ( _ ayyyyy yuuri what’s it like getting dick when you’re trans lmaoo??? _ ), he had freaked out and admitted that he’d never even masturbated, not even once. Phichit had saved him from any further questioning, but had privately sent him a link to a typical straight porn site and had told him that it was nothing to be ashamed about, but he should honestly try it out, just for kicks.

And so here he is, wearing nothing but a binder and a pair of black boxer shorts, watching heterosexual porn and finding it hopelessly boring.

He watches as the blonde girl on the screen spreads her legs, presses a hand to her clit, and rubs in smooth circles. 

Yuuri slides a hand into his boxers and tries to repeat her movements, but he can’t really focus, and he’s not wet at all, and the blonde’s moaning is kind of annoying, and he’s not really interested in girls anyway, so why is he doing this?

Because it’s what guys are supposed to do, right?

He closes out of the window and shuts his laptop, closing his eyes and exhaling before staring up at the ceiling.

Viktor Nikiforov stares back at him.

Or, rather, a poster of him does.

But even in poster form, that gaze is absolutely piercing, and it sends a shiver through Yuuri like no porn star ever could.

He reaches back between his thighs and starts touching himself, and  _ holy-fucking-shit it feels good. _

He gently swirls two fingers against his clit, biting back a moan for the first time in his life, and his underwear is practically soaked at this point.

Maybe he could…

He does.

He presses a finger inside and crooks it gently, searching for that spot.

He finds it.

Yuuri gasps at the feeling, and he keeps going, faster and faster. It’s like he can’t move fast enough.

And then there’s something like a bright warmth spreading through his body, and he has his first ever orgasm with Viktor Nikiforov’s name on his lips.

 

2.

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” 

The words are soft and deep in Yuuri’s throat; he’d practiced them for hours in front of the mirror, but they still seem so unfamiliar.

It’s an English phrase he picked up easily but never thought he would say.

But here he is, twenty-two and blushing in the middle of a gay bar.

The other guy (he’s transgender too, so it’ll be easy and safe and there’s no need for slammed doors and bruised eyes, not this time) smiles and says yes.

He’s still a virgin, but he’s no longer innocent.

He’s been invited back to a few guys’ places before, but once they realized what he had in his pants, they’d kicked him out, some apologetically and some...not so much.

He explains away the bruises on his neck as hickeys to everyone but Phichit, who tells him to be careful out there, as if that will fix anything.

But this guy, he’s safe to hook up with.

He takes him to his apartment.

They kiss a little bit, which is familiar, and they strip, which isn’t.

The guy’s wearing a binder, which isn’t a big deal, but it reminds him of his late teenage years.

Yuuri went on T at age nineteen and got top surgery at age twenty. The scars, though faded, will last.

The guy (Yuuri couldn’t remember his name if his life depended on it) has shaggy platinum blonde hair and dark eyebrows and a grin that makes his heart pound.

He doesn’t really like him all that much, though.

He eats the guy out; it’s his first time doing it, but he’s not half-bad (the guy swears he’s amazing), and then they grind a little bit until Yuuri comes, swearing and biting back Viktor’s name.

It’s a stupid celebrity crush, but it won’t go away.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t ask for the guy’s number, or let him stay the night.

Maybe that’s why he gets drunk that night, and jacks off until he can come properly, picturing Viktor instead.

Maybe that’s why he goes to sleep alone, feeling no different after he’s lost his virginity than he did before.

 

3.

Yuuri fucks a cis guy for the first time when he’s twenty-two; freshly a failure and unable to decide what he’s doing in life.

It’s the most reckless thing he’s ever done; he hooks up with a guy on a gay dating app. He has in his bio that he’s transgender, and this guy seems into it, but not too into it.

Enough that he won’t beat him up in a dark alley, but not too much that he’ll talk all night about how much he likes boypussy.

His name doesn’t matter, Yuuri’s never been one for remembering names anyway.

They meet in a restaurant beforehand, as courtesy, as if it’s a real date. Yuuri doesn’t talk about skating or anything that might make him seem vulnerable. They flirt a little bit and the other guy pays for dinner, which Yuuri appreciates.

They do it in his car.

He gives him a blowjob and then lets the guy fuck him against the backseat.

He comes, thighs trembling and mouth forming the beginnings of a name. He throws a hand over his mouth, not wanting to deal with the eventual  _ “Who’s Viktor?” _

The other guy climaxes too, muttering something under his breath. Yuuri doesn’t ask.

He cleans up the best he can, and the guy gives him a ride home.

Yuuri never sees him again.

 

4.

Yuuri’s twenty-three now, with too much anxiety and an affinity for pork cutlet bowls. 

He reaches down a hand to touch himself, just like any other night.

It helps him go to sleep.

It helps him clear his head.

Only tonight, Viktor Nikiforov is sleeping on the other side of the wall.

He does it anyway, pressing two sure fingers against his hole and thumbing his clit.

He imagines Viktor going down on him, praising his latest program and gripping his thick thighs so hard that it leaves marks. He imagines Viktor’s hands, unlike his own small ones. Those fingers are long and slender and amazing, and he wants them everywhere.

It hurts because seeing Viktor up close is so, so much better than a poster (or eighteen posters). Yuuri finds himself getting turned on during his programs; every criticism, every remark, every  _ word  _ gets him off. He tells everyone that katsudon is his Eros, but really, it’s the way Viktor looks when he eats it; eyes bright, lips wet, murmuring  _ “vkusno.” _

And the way Viktor  _ teases  _ him. It’s like he knows that he’s the only thing that’s ever been able to satisfy Yuuri.

He moans out loud before he can catch himself, and wonders if anyone else is awake to notice.

A few more strokes, and he comes, biting his pillow to muffle the noise. Viktor’s name vibrates against the fabric, pure and perfect.

 

5.

They’re in a hotel room together, Yuuri’s grown more in the past month than he has in twenty-four years of living, and there’s a ring on his hand.

They’ll get married if he wins gold, Viktor says.

But they’ve never even kissed.

There are two beds, but Viktor insists they sleep together.

Because it’s cold.

Because tradition.

Because Viktor wants to wrap his arms around Yuuri and snuggle into his shoulder until his breath huffs warmly against his neck.

And that’s why, when Viktor falls asleep, Yuuri jacks off.

Not in the same bed, of course.

That would be wrong.

He does it in the bathroom.

He strips and sits in the tub (because the floor turned out to be too uncomfortable) and spreads his legs and tries not to think about how much Viktor probably hates him.

A lot of gay men don’t like trans guys, Yuuri’s found, and while Viktor’s never really expressed his distaste, he might be repulsed by what Yuuri’s got in his pants.

Plenty of people are, actually.

Since the one cis guy, Yuuri hasn’t hooked up with any others. Successfully, that is.

He’s never been hurt badly enough that anyone noticed, but a fist still leaves emotional damage as well as physical.

But he’s not thinking about that.

He’s not crying when he slides one, then two, then three fingers into his hole and twists them and thinks about what it would be like to have Viktor doing the same. (He is. He’s sobbing so hard he can’t breathe.)

_ “Perfect, Yuuri,” _ he’s said countless times, and Yuuri imagines him doing so in this context, and the sobs wrack his body almost as badly as his orgasm.

He thinks he screams Viktor’s name.

He’s not sure if it’s a call for help or a lust-driven moan, but either way, he gets an answer in the form of a knock on the door.

 

+1.

“Yuuri,” Viktor calls gently, rapping at the door. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

“No,” Yuuri says, before he can help himself, and then the door opens.

He becomes aware of the fact that he’s naked in the tub, and suddenly curls over himself, as if he’s trying to hide every part of his body. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor says, and rushes forward, runs his fingers over Yuuri’s arms and thighs and stomach, as if he’s checking for something, checking for-

“ _ Oh _ ,” Yuuri says, realizing. “I’m not hurt, I was-”

“You were…?” Viktor trails off, waiting for him to finish.

Yuuri wipes at the tears that still refuse to stop and whispers, embarrassed.

“Jacking off.”

“And crying?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says stupidly. “Yes. I was.”

It’s kind of cold in the bathroom, and he’s shivering, and Viktor doesn’t seem to notice or care about the fact that he’s naked as he picks him up bridal-style and carries him to the bed.

He finds himself getting wrapped in the covers and kissed on the forehead and then on the mouth, sweetly and chastely.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says. “I’m still cold.”

It’s a pick-up line if he ever heard one, and Yuuri’s heard plenty.

And then Viktor’s sliding up next to him, and they’re spooning, and Viktor’s stroking his hair and kissing his face and neck and breathing words hotly into his ear.

“Yuuri, why did you say my name?” he says, ever-so-gently.

“Because I was thinking about you doing this,” Yuuri breathes.

“This?” Viktor says, and kisses his nose.

“This,” Yuuri says, and guides the other man’s hand between his thighs.

Viktor gasps, and then he moves his hand, and suddenly it’s Yuuri that gasps.

It doesn’t take long.

Smooth, even strokes and soft, firm thrusts, and a few well placed words of praise, and Yuuri’s coming again, trembling and grinding against Viktor’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Viktor laughs lightly.

A few minutes later, when Yuuri thinks he’s gone back to sleep, Viktor asks him:

“Why were you crying?”

“I never thought you’d want to do that,” Yuuri says honestly.

“Oh, Yuuri,” and he presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”


End file.
